Sunflower Syndrome
by fandomhive
Summary: Alfred is terrified of his Russian captor Ivan, who is hauntingly captivated with the idea of them 'becoming one'. Or so he should be. Hearts will be broken and morals will be questioned when America comes to the frightening realisation that he is falling in love with his kidnapper. Russia x America (Rusame)
1. Chapter 1

**Sunflower Syndrome, Chapter One.**

**Rating will soon become M, however this chapter is clean.  
Constructive criticism and reviews would be greatly appreciated in helping me to improve my writing of the story. (it's also super sweet). **

_It's been this way for as long as I can remember; waking up to the sight of those dead, violet eyes beside me, watching my every move. The unnerving voice which breaks me from my slumber each dawn and feeds me breakfast for it is too afraid to allow me prolonged freedom, calls my name._

"Alfred?" spoke Ivan, his hand ruffling the man's hair.

_My nightmares are of him, as are my deepest fantasies. Truly, I don't know what to believe anymore. The chilling figure removes my handcuffs, allowing me to stretch my arms. I move to my feet, stretching my aching back thoroughly. Ivan watches me carefully as I lean forward and greedily gulp down the glass of juice beside me._

"You're up by yourself today." remarked the Russian, placing a tray of food on Alfred's bed. It was a plate of eggs and soldiers, arranged lovingly and sprinkled with pepper.  
"Is it okay if I go to the toilet?" asked the blonde American warily.  
_You still don't trust me on my own.  
_ "Of course, but I shall escort you, da? I don't want you abandoning me like you've tried in the past…" spoke Ivan innocently before taking Alfred's hand more roughly than necessary and leading him to the bathroom. The blonde shot him a steely gaze as he was forced to go to the toilet in front of him, feeling as trapped as a rat in a cage.  
_You won't let me leave._

Once he was finished, he washed his hands and turned to the tall, alabaster skinned man beside him. _Ivan. _The Russian who had captured him one dark winter's night when he had wandered too far into the wilderness. It was spring now, and although the blossoms and soft breeze held a note of hope, there was none there for Alfred, who knew that he wouldn't be leaving any time soon.

"I have a present for you, da?" smiled Ivan.  
_Please, don't let it be what I fear it is. _  
"What is it?" replied Alfred emotionlessly.  
"It's in the kitchen, you must come and see!" The Russian firmly clasped America's wrist once more and pulled him downstairs, leading him into the kitchen table.

_He pulls me onto his lap, still holding my arms. One hand motions towards the present; a single flower on the table top. He cradles me, like a mother would her child and softly says, "Do you know what this is?"  
I nod quickly. "It's a sunflower. But why is it in a cage?"  
Ivan pauses for a moment. "You are the sunflower. This cage here is protecting the flower from the evil of the world."  
Silence. "You're the cage, right?"  
I felt his arms snake around my neck, pulling me close. "Da."  
He suddenly lifts me down and places the flower on the window ledge. "Let's have breakfast."  
_

Ivan sat down in his chair, smiling sweetly at Alfred. The blonde stared blankly in response, masking his fear. Ivan chuckled before gently taking his chin. "_Open."_ He spoke softly. Alfred obeyed and the Russian lightly slid a spoonful of egg into his mouth. "That's good, da?"  
The American did not respond, keeping an angered gaze on his captor. He pulled a face of mock upset but his violet eyes burned in outrage. "Manners, little sunflower. Surely Arthur taught you those _at least_."

He raised the spoon once again but this time Alfred's mouth stayed tight shut. He pressed the spoon to his lips, trying to pry it open but the blonde refused. Ivan growled. "Play nicely." He ordered but to no avail. That was it.

Menacingly he gripped Alfred's wrist and twisted. Alfred sprung to life, gasping in pain.  
"Let go." He sobbed weakly as the man continued.  
"No." he smiled sweetly, using the other hand to pop another spoonful into his mouth. It was then that he relaxed his grip, leaving America wincing from pain to prevent the tears from falling.  
"_I hate you."_ He choked out.

Russia shrugged. "You do not hate me, little sunflower. When me and you become one you will finally see the hard work I have put into you, da? And you shall thank me." He nestled into his victim innocently and ruffled his hair. Alfred shivered, unaware of the slight murmur which escaped from his lips. He cursed himself for sinking into the warmth of Ivan's thick white coat. It was so warm…so soft…  
"_Bayu-bay, bayu-bay." _Whispered Ivan, holding the man close.

"_You…" _cursed Alfred hazily. "You p-put something in the food…"

Darkness blinded Alfred as he sank into unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

Alfred opened his eyes, his vision hazy from exhaustion. The room around him was spinning more slowly now, giving him the opportunity to focus on the vast white walls that trapped him in. The room was sparsely decorated, the only source of light coming from a large white window, along with the ever present sunflower placed upon it. Alfred gazed down at his wrists; his handcuffs were fitted but not locked, and he could not be sure whether this was deliberate. He decided against any attempt at removing them, and instead chose to walk towards the window. It was three floors up and flooded the room white with the serenity of the snow which fell across it each second of every day.

Alfred sighed breathlessly as his fingers slowly traced the caged sunflower on its ledge. It was withering from malnourishment, and he thought, was oddly much like his own self in many ways that he couldn't even begin to describe. Since his entrapment the month before, Alfred had lost weight – so much so that his clothes had begun to grow loose around his withered frame, and he too was beginning to wilt.

There was a light tapping on the door, causing Alfred to dive back into the relative comfort of his bed, eyes closed for the moment.  
"Little sunflower?" whispered the sickly-sweet voice, causing the American to twitch ever so slightly – but the Russian's tone soon turned cold. "You're awake. I can tell, you know. I'm not as unaware as you take me to be, my little sunflower."  
With this Alfred shifted his position, lifting his frail frame against the pillows.  
"Right." He mumbled bitterly, before remembering. "You put something in the food."  
To this Ivan frowned slightly. "_Da, I did._ I had an errand to run and it still isn't quite finished. However I can trust you not to leave here, hm? You know what will happen otherwise!" he chimed.  
The American nodded slowly, fixing a hard glare on his captor. With this, Ivan flashed Alfred a cheerful look - one which the blonde secretly cursed himself for being given a sense of hope from. Ivan silently bid him goodbye before closing the door. Alfred sat in anticipation of the click of a lock, or the rattling of keys – but none came. Confused, the blonde waited for a few seconds before approaching the door and lightly twisting the handle. It swung open with ease, bringing a loud creak with it. This caused Alfred to wince – nevertheless he seized his opportunity to escape, easily slipping off his open handcuffs in the process.

_Freedom. That's what it feels like. Having the first taste of the independence that I have been starved of for so long. Nobody is here – just me and my plans for escape. But…before I leave… I know that it is only right to hurt Ian the way that he has hurt me. His bedroom door is only down the corridor, and I know exactly what to do._

Alfred slowly edged his way down through the halls, his breath quickening in pace. Once he had reached Ivan's room, he quietly opened the ancient door handle, revealing the chambers in its splendour. It was beautiful; painted a pale, iced blue with a large white bed and ivory furniture. There were many bookshelves and paintings furnishing the walls, and Alfred took a moment to skim past them before finding what he really wanted – Ivan's clothing drawer. He smiled wickedly as he reached for the scarf compartment, tugging the precious gifts from his kidnapper's sister until they frayed. His face fell.

_I can't do this to him. I can't take these from him. His treasures…they're the only humanity he has left. My face contorts and I find myself sobbing heavily into the soft knitwear, my heart aching.  
Ivan.  
Ivan…  
I cry so hard that I almost miss the noise of the front door opening. My heart jumps as I strain to hear footsteps making their way up to the first floor. Frightened and unsure of who had just entered the house, I know that there is no other choice. Wincing, I open Ivan's window, greeted to the bitter cold. It is easy to escape with my now thin figure, and once I am outside clinging to the windowsill, I close my eyes and let go, hoping that the snow will break my fall, and not my spine._


	3. Chapter 3

_They say that snow can cushion a fall, and I suppose it does._

_However, what I fell on happened to be rock, not snow.  
I cannot open my eyes for my vision is clouded with snow and tears, and I can only very slightly hear the usually billowing Russian winds. When my dry mouth opens to speak, I can feel no sound come out other than a muffled cry. I am helpless; strewn upon the floor in a wet, metallic substance that I can only guess is blood. There is no hope now._

…_Until I feel a hand on my arm. It is warm, soft. I am filled with faith. I cannot be sure who it is, however it traces the words 'you are safe' on my skin. I cannot manage a word of thanks, but I muster a choked sigh of relief. _

Alfred rested himself for two days in a home unknown to him. He was given food, drinks and fresh clothing. Although he couldn't open his now swollen eyes or hear well at all, he silently thanked the stranger's care. For so long he had lived in the fear of Ivan's passive…_was it even abuse? _And neglect that he had forgotten that there was goodness in the world at all. Alfred didn't even expect help from his anonymous carer, and was almost afraid. However, today was a fresh day.

Alfred lay propped in the pillows of his bed – it was plush and luxurious, so different from his own. His wiry frame was wrapped in bandages, bruised and cut. But he was healing. Alfred could faintly hear footsteps, and then a bowl being set onto his bedside table. A hand gently tapped Alfred's chin, willing it to open – this caused the American to remember Ivan's spoon feeding, and he winced, twisting his face away. But there was no forcing that followed. Alfred was simply offered something, with no dark reasoning behind it. The thought calmed him a little bit. He was safe.

"Thank-you…" He choked out warmly, but there was no reply. Alfred decided that he didn't mind, rolling over onto his side happily. Suddenly he cried out in pain, doubling over. He'd torn a bandage off by accident, and blood had started to pour from his wound. Hastily, the stranger rushed to Alfred's aid, gently scooping him up like a child. Before he knew it, he was placed in a bathroom alone for a while, whilst he could hear the sound of bed sheets being changed.

_I'm lucky. I really am._

Alfred lay in the bath, the warm water rippling across his many wounds, causing blood to leak and fade into the blue. He had been fed, watered and disinfected, and now he was bathing his cuts and bruises. However, this was extremely limited because his limbs were still aching. The stranger took a sponge and slowly ran it under a warm tap, scrubbing his back softly. Red stains transformed to clear skin with some cuts, and he was in less pain. The stranger carefully and gently washed each injured scrap of skin, and the American washed his own hair because it required minimal effort and wouldn't strain him.

_After weeks of no showering there is no greater feeling compared to being clean and healthy for once. One part of me however, feels enormously guilty. I left Ivan. That same corner of my mind is adamant that he didn't know just how much he was hurting me – I'm sure of it. I hate myself for it.  
I hate myself for loving Ivan._

As the warm droplets of water fell from Alfred's blonde hair to his face, Alfred could feel the swelling in his eyes much less prominent, and it was losing its grip on his sight. It wouldn't take long before he could see again, and then he could finally thank his stranger for all of the kindness. Concentrating on this, Alfred continued to wash his face, loosening up his eyes. Slowly, they opened. The bathroom came to light, and the first thing that Alfred noticed was his skin. It was awful – bruised cut and torn. It made him feel sick. He didn't even notice the stranger walking into his room with freshly washed and ironed clothes. He raised his head, first noticing the clothing, and then the person that held them. His head span.

"_Ivan…"_


	4. Chapter 4

Ivan stopped dead in his tracks, his violet eyes wide with fear, like a deer in headlights.  
He turned on his heels, leaving the room and swiftly closing the door behind him. He scrambled upstairs, gathering Alfred's possessions (of which there were few) and stuffing them into a bag. He took one last wary glance at the sunflower - it had withered completely, its petals scattered across the cage.

He tossed the bag downstairs before locking himself in. He'd slept on the couch for two days, lending Alfred his personal space. The bed still smelt like him. The sheets still lingered with his blood. Ivan curled into a ball, cold tears rolling down his cheeks.  
It was all wrong again.  
_This was not how it should be._

XxXxXxXxXxX

Alfred was lost for words. As he stood shakily to towel down his injured body, his face caught the mirror. He was crying. The American struggled to catch his breath before he opened the door, greeted to the sight of his belongings presented. It was clear that Ivan wanted him to leave…_but it didn't make sense. _

He bolted up the stairs, wincing as the impact brushed against his wounds. He pounded on Ivan's door, but there was no answer.  
"_LET ME IN YOU BASTARD…"_ he cried out, his voice cracking with volume.  
He pressed his ear to the door, greeted to a soft and sorrowful murmur. "Nyet."  
Alfred sobbed in frustration, pushing his back to the wall. He lay there, silent, until Ivan anxiously left the room.  
"I'm still here." muttered the American bitterly.

Silence.

"I think that you should go, Alfred." warned Ivan. There was no light in his eyes, and his tone was dull.  
Alfred didn't know what to say. "_Why?"_ was all that he could manage.  
"_Because I will hurt you._" replied the Russian.

"You won't."  
Ivan's face twisted in anger as he brought his face dangerously close to Alfred. His eyes scorched in rage and he reached out, snatching the American's hair and twisting. Alfred didn't even move, nor make a sound.

_I've had worse. This doesn't bother me._

"Go." cautioned Ivan.  
"No- _argh.._" tears sprung to Alfred's eyes as the Russian's hand connected with his bruised face. He pulled away in fear, almost stumbling on his feet in his haste to leave. This time, he didn't protest.

**Super short chapter this time; my apologies! Thankyou to everybody who has followed/favourite and reviewed so far! It means so much!**


	5. Chapter 5

The World Conference Room was as normal as it ever had been; its members were blissfully unaware of Alfred's disappearance. They merely brushed his absence off as pure laziness, a trait which the American was usually guilty of. Today however, was the third time in a row that he hadn't attended. Ludwig was irritated in particular, because it was his turn to lead the meeting.  
"Alfred F. Jones, it's your turn." He addressed the man to the entire room, not bothering to search for him amidst the mass of others. Their eyes drifted to Ludwig, and then to Alfred's empty seat.

"Lazy bastard." grumbled Arthur, gazing into a newspaper. "I could've done with a break from the meetings, and he's taken three."  
It was at that moment that Alfred meekly opened the door. His face was ghostly pale and there were dark circles around his eyes. His alabaster skin was still lightly shaded in bruises, and it appeared as though he walked with a slight limp. Arthur shifted in his seat silently, suddenly feeling rather guilty.

"Sup?" laughed Alfred weakly. He knew exactly what was wrong, and simply didn't want to admit it.  
Ludwig shrugged, an awkward smile on his face. "Your turn, Al." he spoke softly, passing a folder to the American and sitting down briskly to avoid any further curiosity.  
Alfred nodded, his eyes drifting towards the meeting plan. "Oh. Right." He mumbled, as though he was in a trance. Shakily, he stepped towards the front the table. He simply couldn't muster his usual arrogant and commanding tone – it was a wonder he'd even managed to pull himself out of bed today, as he'd tried and failed for the last week. He began to recite the register with a shaky voice, dreading asking for a certain name.  
"Gilbert and Ludwig Beilschmidt."  
"Ja and ja."  
"Bonnefoy."  
"Oui, _mon ami_!"  
There was a pause. "…Braginsky."  
Ivan raised his head from his desk. His eyes looked pink at the sclera, a frightening combination to his bright violet pupils. It looked as though he'd been crying. "Da." He spoke cheerfully.

Alfred shivered. _Heart breaking, mind fucking, abusive Russian bastard._ He brushed his thoughts off as he made his way through each page of the folder. He silently thanked world affairs that Russia didn't feature so much this month. Finally, after what seemed like forever, Alfred set the folders down.  
"Coffee break guys. Be back here in half an hour. The next subject is global warming and how it's everybody's fault but America's!" he laughed faintly, knowing that the others felt obliged to join in simply out of pity. Well, he couldn't get out of the room quick enough. He made a bolt for the door before the other countries had even started to pack their things. He rushed towards the elevator, before a voice stopped him dead in his tracks.

"_Alfred."_ Spoke the heavily Russian accent that the blonde knew so well. "I believe we need to talk…"  
The American had frozen up, fear evident in his dull blue eyes. "Don't come closer…please." He begged softly, clearly terrified of Ivan.  
"Nyet, don't look at me like that. I can't bear it." Ivan spoke sheepishly. "We need to talk."

Alfred turned away, storming towards the elevator. He refused to speak to Ivan. Russia was bad news. He was lucky to have left when he did. _That's what I need to keep telling myself, at least. _  
He refused to let Ivan see him cry. Once he'd reached the lift, he stabbed at the buttons furiously, willing it to arrive faster. He sighed with relief once it did, barely realising that the Russian had joined him. He prayed that he wouldn't speak during the 20 second journey.

"You can't ignore me forever."  
"Yes, I can actually."  
There was a pained silence as Ivan turned to face the blonde. "I'm sorry." He whispered.  
Alfred laughed bitterly. "Sorry for what, Ivan? For kidnapping me? For force feeding me, poisoning me, neglecting and beating me? Which one, _hm?"_  
"I'm sorry." was all that Ivan could repeat. It was feeble, yes; but it took all of his guts to do it.

Alfred ignored him. Seconds later, he groaned in anger. The elevator had stopped working. He growled, turning to face Ivan. "Go on then. Talk. I'm not scared." He insisted, hoping that it looked realistic enough.  
Ivan was quiet for a few seconds. Then he spoke, his voice thoughtful. It carried a child-like innocence, and it was clear that this was not put on for once. "If I didn't scare you…you'd have left me. And I didn't want that to happen."

Alfred's jaw dropped. He couldn't believe this. _He couldn't believe this. THIS was his reasoning? His reasoning for putting him through not only physical and mental torture, but the emotional pain that he had suffered? The self loathing that he forced upon himself for loving that man? For justifying his abuse?_

Alfred raised his head, fixing Ivan with a cold, hard stare. "Don't speak to me, ever again."


	6. Chapter 6

_Baby, baby, rock-a-bye,  
On your side you mustn't lie,  
Or the little grey wolf will come,  
And will nip you on the tum,  
Drag you off into the wood,  
Underneath the willow root._

Alfred shuddered as he pressed his jacket to his mouth in a feeble attempt to supress the cold winds from his reddening face. Truth be told, he was terrified that he accidentally stumbled across into the Russian border. The stories that he'd heard of Ivan's troubled past were heart-breaking, but surely enough to frighten even the hardest of hearts. Russia was a place alien to him, with harsh winds and dangerous animals. It was so different to the soft, colourful atmosphere that he thrived in.

__Alfred yelped suddenly at the feeling of his feet collapsing beneath him. He'd trampled on a root that had been hidden underneath the white sheet of snow, causing himself to fall to the floor. As soon as his face hit the bitterly cold floor, he winced in agony. His leg was twisted and half buried in the ice. Alfred thought for sure that he was going to die.

"Alfred?"  
The American rolled feebly onto his back to get a close look at who was calling his name. He faced with Ivan, who was smiling warmly, dressed head to toe in a long, cream coloured coat and scarf. He offered a hand to the blonde before giving up and scooping the man up himself.  
"That was quite a fall, da?" he spoke worriedly.  
Alfred could only mumble in response. "Y-yeah…Ivan." His snow-filled gazed had finally focused on him and the very sight made his heart flutter.  
"Would you like to come back to m-"

_Everything blacked out._

Alfred snapped to life, raising his head drearily from the wrappers that plastered his cheeks. His computer screen glared back at him, causing his eyes to shut back tight, not ready for the brightness of a screen or the tedious whirring of a monitor. Sunlight had not yet began to filter through the windows, and a quick glance at his phone told Alfred that it was 4 o'clock in the morning. He sighed, stretching across the couch. It still felt _odd_ not to have the handcuffs restricting his movement at these early hours.

_It felt odd not being Ivan's property.  
And yet something aching and burning inside of me tells me that what I feel is wrong._

The American stood warily before dragging his feet reluctantly up the stairs. He fell to a heap on his bed, eyes fluttering with discomfort. He curled into a helpless ball, not bothering to crawl into the covers. All that mattered was forgetting his horrible dream, his horrible _memory._

Alfred's head rose gently from the pillows. He could have sworn he heard a noise. Shrugging it off, he allowed himself to fall back into the softness of his bed.  
That was, until he heard the noise again.  
_And again._  
Alfred snarled irritably, his head twisting towards the window. Sure enough, there was a light scattering of pebbles which were tossed against the glass again and again. Not thinking of the possibilities he rolled from his bed and onto his feet, opening the window. "Who's there?" he shouted down into the early dawn.

Silence.

Alfred growled, obviously impatient. "Well?"  
The voice which called back was both quiet and frightened. "Ivan."

_Sometimes we don't need an explanation for the things that we do, and sometimes the heart acts before the mind even has the chance. And I know deep down inside that although my conscience is far from awake, my heart beats and each ounce of blood that flows belongs to Ivan.  
And although it pains me to know that this man has hurt me again and again, I cannot help but love him the way I do. _

Alfred held his breath in an attempt to bite back the pain in his voice. "Come in." he mumbled.  
"Nyet."  
"Oh. Right. Then I'm going back to bed then because I'm tired and I'm sad and my face smells like Cheetos and bec-"  
"I want you to come here, Alfred."  
"Oh."

Shakily, the American stood to his feet, thankful that he was still wearing yesterday's clothes. He made his way down the stairs, unsure if this was reality or the most intricate dream sequence in the world. He opened the door, greeted to the warm early morning sun. Ivan was standing there, tears in his eyes. He wasted no time before he spoke, the words tumbling from his lips.  
"I'm sorry for everything that I've done Alfred. And I'll leave you alone. But…that's exactly the problem. _I never wanted to be alone. _I should never have captured you. I just wanted that feeling…the feeling that for once I wasn't as lonely as I perceived to be."

Alfred nodded slowly, as though he carried the weight of the world on his head. His movements were feeble, stifled by bewilderment. Ivan was _here,_ so close to him. They were equals.  
For once, they were the same.

"Come here…" ushered Alfred, pulling Ivan into a tight hug. But the Russian felt completely stiff. Confused, Alfred pulled away, tipping his head to the side in confusion. "Ivan?"  
There was a pause.

"Alfred, I came to apologise and tell you that I will leave you alone. It was what you wanted. I can't deny you that after everything I've done to you."

"-But…Ivan…"

Ivan turned away, hot tears rolling down his cheeks. "Nyet." He breathed shakily.

_To be continued…_


	7. Chapter 7

"_NO!" _growled Alfred, the sudden noise causing Ivan to whip his head around in shock. The American pressed on. "Don't go. You can't go_._ _Please don't go._"

Ivan froze, his voice dropping close to inaudibility. "I can do what I want." He spoke, the words spilling painfully and bitterly from his lips. "You don't really need me, Alfred. You just think you do because you've grown so accustomed to me. But you don't need me. _Nobody needs me._"  
Alfred bit back the tears that had welled up in his eyes. "I need you." He whispered.

There was a long silence as Ivan tried to process such a thought. Never in his life had anybody depended on him. And only now, when he was free, was Alfred admitting to such things. It must have been guilt. He wouldn't want Ivan. The Russian scowled as he felt anger welling in his chest, hot and irritating. He sighed.  
"I suggest you don't stop me from leaving." He spoke simply, a familiarly dangerous glint in his eye which sent a shudder down Alfred's spine.

Alfred wouldn't allow himself to be deterred. He scrambled towards Ivan, tugging on his white coat with wide blue eyes that begged him to stay. The Russian grunted and struck Alfred in the face, causing the man to stumble back onto his doorstep, slamming his head onto the stone.  
_Ivan hadn't changed._

But for once, Alfred wasn't going to sit there and accept it. He wasn't going to cower in pain, bleed it out, cry until his eyes were pink and sore. He stood to his feet, squaring up to the Russian. Before the man could react he punched Ivan on the nose and fiercely gripped his hair, forcing him to the ground. Ivan was speechless. He turned his head, seemingly unfazed by the searing pain of his nose bleeding and merely wiped it with his sleeve.  
"Alfred…" he whispered.

Slowly, he raised himself up and brought his face to the American's. A sea of emotions had swept over his expression, guilt, pain, fear. Ivan placed his hand on Alfred's pale cheek. The blonde stiffened in terror.  
_I shouldn't have hit him. He'll kill me.  
_A cold silence spread between the two and they remained in that position for minutes, although it felt like hours. The only difference in demeanour was the odd tear or two that rolled down their faces.

That was before Ivan brought himself to Alfred and placed his mouth to his.  
It took a few seconds to Alfred to process this, and after a soft gasp for air he slowly returned the gesture, their blood and trembling breath mingling together as he gently opened his lips. The American pulled away, averting his gaze to the rosy, early morning sky.  
"I love you." He whispered.

Ivan clutched Alfred, his heart racing. As much as he tried, he couldn't find the words to speak. He simply melted into the blonde, their bodies intertwining as they collapsed upon eachother on the cold stone.

.

Alfred awoke, panting breathlessly as his body shot up from the pillows. He was in his own room. His heart sank when he concluded that it must have been a dream. He shuddered, knowing that something so perfect could never have lasted, because he would always have to wake up eventually. His eyes trailed towards the window, at the harsh sunlight that pounded down through the glass. Alfred gasped. Slowly, he stood to his feet, checking that he wasn't still dreaming.

_There was a sunflower on his windowsill._


	8. Chapter 8

"We need to talk, Alfred." Spoke Arthur, passing a cup of tea to the American. Alfred raised his eyebrows.  
"Yes, it would appear so…I mean, if dragging me over to your place at 8 in the morning wasn't enough of a hint. So, what is the matter?"  
The Englishman paused, drawing in a breath. "Ivan."

Alfred felt his heart sink. "W-What about Ivan?" he asked, the tea in his hand shaking slightly with the anxiety which overcame him.  
"I've been hearing a few rumours, rather _unsettling ones_, to say the least. I just want you to clear them out for me because I know you'd never lie." Arthur set his mug down, his sharp, green eyed gaze returning to Alfred. "Is that okay with you?"

Alfred nodded nervously. "Of course! But Ivan…me and Ivan don't see eachother, so why would there be rumours about us? You know I hate the guy!"  
Arthur nodded. "Yes, _that's what I thought. _Until I overheard Toris and Feliks."  
"Oh? What did they say?"

"That Ivan had forced you to stay over for a month, _and that you're lucky to be alive."  
_Alfred laughed weakly. "Liars! I never went to stay at his at all! Why would I do that?"  
Arthur scowled. "It would explain a lot of things. For example, why you didn't return _any_ of my calls. And the bruises on your face and body. And the fact that every time that man is mentioned, you quiver like a rabbit."

Alfred shook his head. "The rumours aren't true." He lied, smiling weakly.  
The Englishman rolled his eyes before turning to face him. "I hate it when you lie to me, Alfred. So just bloody tell me what happened."

There was a long, cold silence. Alfred suddenly felt awfully uncomfortable in his chair, staring at his best friend with wide innocent eyes. Arthur looked extremely angry, and he wasn't even sure why.  
"W-Well…I fell in the snow a while back. And Ivan helped me. He took me to his house." Alfred closed his eyes to prevent tears rolling down his cheeks as he spoke the half-truth. "H-He took good care of me…I promise. And then when I f-felt better I went home. That's the truth."

Arthur fell silent, his green eyes boiling with rage. He felt as though he'd snap any second, and tried his very best to remain completely calm. "May you explain the bruises?"  
Alfred didn't reply. His gaze was distant as he thought back to the night in which he fell.  
Ivan appeared to be so caring…_but he was a wolf in sheep's skin. _He merely stared at Arthur blankly, listening to the words but not quite processing them. The truth simply tumbled from his lips without him noticing. "He beat me a few times. He kept me in one room. Sometimes he'd poison my food. He'd handcuff me so that I couldn't move without his help…" his voice trailed off as he realised what he had confessed. "B-But I mean, I was really rude to him and we were just joking around!" stuttered Alfred desperately.

Arthur rose to his feet, cracking his knuckles. "_Monster." _He growled under his breath before glaring at Alfred. "You're coming with me, Alfred. We're going to sort this out, okay? I promise. You'll never see Ivan, again, don't worry."

"_NO_!" shouted Alfred. Arthur paused, his face melting into confusion. "…Don't. I love him."  
Arthur glared at Alfred. "Don't be bloody ridiculous!" he yelled. "That's what he _WANTS _you to think! Haven't you even heard of Stockholm Syndrome?!"  
The Englishman grabbed Alfred without a word of protest and bundled him into his car, driving to Ivan's.

* .* .* .*. *

_Sometimes I wonder how it would feel to be a sunflower - growing tall in the soft summer breeze on a green hill overlooking the countryside. I have always wished for such; but instead I was born into the harsh, year-round winter on a barren land. Bloodshed and impure screams filled the air, and it wasn't long before I was alone._

_Alone._

_I was never given a choice in such, was I? Even my family left me. And no matter what words I said or actions I performed, I was given the same reaction. Everybody was afraid of me. Still to this day I cannot be sure why. And Alfred…Alfred was different. But I frightened him too, didn't I? He was so willing to give and receive love and I thought for sure that things would change. But I was always wrong. I told him to stay away. I pushed him away for his own good.  
And if for once I could have found it in my heart to be selfish, he'd still be here. But he isn't.  
And I am alone._

Ivan spoke into his mirror, the words from his mouth completely void of emotion as though he was reciting a song he had grown far too used to. His ivory hair lay tangled and scattered with snowflakes and his eyes were dulled from intense loneliness. It had been a long time since Alfred had left, and since the dawn that Ivan had visited him, he felt no spur to do anything. It was odd. What had once been a desperate bid for some – _any_ attention, even from the man he once hated, had now become a painful endeavour to look back on. The very thought of it made his cold heart ache.

At the sound of the door, Ivan's head tipped upwards from the mirror. Still dazed, he made his way down the stairs – not at all confused as to why somebody was bothering to contact him. He swung the door open, greeted to Arthur's furious face. Arthur hit him as hard as he could without an explanation, and Ivan merely stood still. He was too strong to be affected by the smaller man's weak hit, but it made him wonder why he did such a thing.

"Arthur?"  
"_You bloody monster, I'm going to fucking kill you! Once everybody finds out about what you did to Alfred, you're going to be dust. Don't expect to see that man ever again!"  
_Ivan fell silent. With no words to speak, he shoved Arthur out of the way and shut the door behind him, not noticing Alfred shouting from the car.

"_Ivan!"_ screamed the American, bashing frantically on the window to no avail. Ivan was gone. He had retreated to his house in complete solitude and left Arthur on the doorstep. The Englishman made no attempt to further speak to him and instead made his way back into the car, slamming the door behind him as he stepped inside. He didn't speak to Alfred, but his eyes did the talking. They promised that this wouldn't be over yet.

"Arthur…please stop. Arthur. _Please. _Listen to me. Arthur. Artie. Iggy? Listen to m-"  
"Shut up! Just bloody shut up!" shouted Arthur, slamming onto the wheel in stress. "I won't have you protecting that freak. You won't see it again, and that's final. You're staying with me until I can trust you not to go crawling back to him. If you did that, _he'd probably kill you._ I'm just looking out for you here."

Alfred fell silent, and it dawned on him that he had no choice in this. Arthur was stubborn, and if it meant forcefully dragging Alfred to his home for the sake of his safety, he would. "Right." He mumbled, ignoring the tears that fell down his cheeks.


	9. Chapter 9

Arthur scowled to himself, his head buried in his hands. Had he really been that harsh on Alfred? He felt like a clingy parent, banishing his child from any harmless relationship merely out of jealousy.

But this was much different.

Ivan was dangerous. The world knew that. What lay beyond his deceiving violet eyes was far from what he masked himself to be. He was not innocent, he was not loving. He was _abusive, _and he'd hurt Alfred. And now he had him trapped to the point where stupid, immature America thought that he was in love with him. How could that possibly even happen? The world knew of their past, and how the Cold War assured that the two would never be friends, let alone anything else. Ivan was poison and Arthur would not let Alfred mix with him.

_Just because I'm not his carer anymore doesn't mean that I don't have common sense. I have more than enough of that. America doesn't know what's right for him.  
_

*.*.*.*

Alfred stared blankly at the walls. They were much different from the ones he was used to; they were a fresh, alluring green. They weren't blue like his own, nor were they greying like the ones that had trapped him in for so long. And they were far from the troubled ivory of Ivan's room, where the Russian had secretly nursed him to health. Alfred didn't want to move. He didn't want to speak. He knew that by now the whole world would have turned on Russia thanks to England. _Arthur didn't understand. _Alfred growled, tossing his glasses to the floor. He threw himself onto Arthur's spare bed in frustration. There was a knock on the door.

Arthur didn't bother to ask whether he was allowed to come in before stepping inside anyway. He held a steaming cup of tea in one hand and had a soft smile on his face. Alfred didn't turn to look at the Englishman. Arthur rolled his eyes. "Come on, Alfred. Just drink your tea and have a talk with me, maybe you'll feel better after that?"  
"I don't want to talk to you."  
"But it's the World Meeting tomorrow!"  
World Meeting…that meant that everybody would be there. _Including Ivan. _Alfred straightened himself up a little bit, propping himself against the pillows. "Okay man! So, remind me where it's being held again?"  
Arthur frowned slightly, clearing is throat. "Well. It was going to be held in Russia, but due to a few _complaints _from other countries, we've decided on it being held in England. So don't worry, you won't have to travel there!"  
"Will Ivan be there?"

Arthur paused. "No."

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: I must apologise for the short length and slow pace of this chapter. I needed a gateway in order for my next chapter which will focus mainly on the World Meeting. In addition to this, I'd like to thank everybody who has favourited, followed and reviewed this fanfiction! I wouldn't continue without it! 2500 views means a lot to me!_


	10. Chapter 10

It was the day of the World Conference, held in England. After a breakfast of tea and burnt scones, Alfred had found himself ushered away from the relative comfort of the weak British sunshine and sitting at his uncomfortable chair on the large round table next to Arthur. The Brit gave his hand a reassuring but unnoticeable squeeze as he stood at the front in preparation for the others, rifling through his papers with a blank expression on his face.

The countries filtered in, saying their respective greetings and sitting down one by one. Each offered America a comforting smile, but Alfred merely twisted his head around in annoyance, ignoring them all. Ivan wasn't there, and the thought as to why truly terrified him. He felt as though he'd almost betrayed him.

"_Right_, chaps!" spoke Arthur, demanding the attention of the others. "Considering our last few meetings have been strictly business, I have decided to do something a little different today. We will be discussing the cultures of the separate countries, as well as the standard Nation Economy checks and speaking of the relationships and deals between us."  
The crowd nodded in agreement – but of course Alfred wasn't listening. He eyed the smooth white door, knowing that he could easily slip out.

He stood to his feet confidently but immediately weakened when everybody turned to face him.  
"Something the matter, aru?" spoke Yao, smiling sweetly. "Hungry? I have some pastries if you'd like one?"  
"N-no!" replied Alfred, tripping over his words. "I need the toilet!" he dashed from the room, breathing a heavy sigh of relief. Once the door had closed behind him, he shut his eyes contentedly. It was the first peace he'd had for a while. Just listening to the quiet thump of his heartbeat and the soft chattering from the other side of the wood was enough to calm him down. Alfred smiled to himself in the dark hallway that smelt like tea. _Peace and quiet._

"_Excuse me, Alfred."_ Spoke Ivan, gazing down at the American. His skin looked much paler today and his violet eyes appeared tired. His voice was quiet, and for once the Russian appeared nervous. Alfred straightened up. "You're not supposed to be here Ivan…aren't you?"  
"Nyet." Replied the man softly. He strolled over towards the hallway window, stroking his glass reflection. "But I didn't want to leave you this way."

Alfred paused. "I'm not supposed to see you ever again." He whispered.  
Ivan tipped his head to the side, a sad smile on his face. He carried a melancholy tone as he spoke. "But I won't tell if you won't, da?"  
Alfred grinned. He trembled with fear at the man, but couldn't deny how so much as a single word could make his heart elate. The moment was incredibly bittersweet.  
"Of course Ivan. But…what if someone comes looking for me?"

The Russian stiffened up. "Then I will show them that I am not scared to protect-" he paused.  
_To protect what?_  
"I will show them that I am not scared."

Alfred shakily stood to his feet and approached Ivan. Nervously, he slid his arm around the Russian's waist and pressed his head into his soft coat. They stood silently, looking out at the tedious yellow sunshine. It was nothing in comparison to the snowflakes that battled for space in a grey sky; a scene that burnt like fire in an otherwise cold environment. It was perfect nonetheless.

"You frighten me more than anything else in the world, Alfred." Spoke Ivan.  
The American paused, wondering why Ivan was joking during such a tender moment. "More like I'm frightened of you…" he laughed weakly.  
"No, Alfred. You terrify me."  
"Why?"

The Russian pulled himself from Alfred's grip and turned to face him, blocking the light unintentionally with his large frame. "One touch and you could snap me to pieces. If you told me to leave…_I'd probably fall apart._ Which is why I tried with all of my strength to keep you mine. Even if you didn't want it."  
Alfred's mouth fell open. "But…why me of all people?"  
Ivan turned back around and his gaze dropped to the window. He studied the softly swaying green trees as he searched for the words to speak. "You can't choose who you love." He spoke simply.  
A hand fell onto Ivan's shoulder…  
But it wasn't Alfred's.

"_Come here, you bastard." _Growled Arthur, tugging the man's coat with his fist. An uncharacteristic yelp spilled from his lips as Ivan was caught off guard, stumbling to the floor. And Alfred saw it. For once, he saw the unspoilt and pure child-like nature in his eyes. The fear and misunderstanding that throbbed through the violet pigment and led directly to the deepest, most hidden parts of his solitary heart. Right then and there, Alfred knew that Ivan was not the monster he was made out to be.

"Let go of him!" he shouted desperately, pulling Arthur aside.  
The Englishman scowled, his green eyes flashing in anger. "Alfred. I'm doing you a favour." He warned lowly. Alfred wanted to scream in frustration. "_NO! You have to stop treating me like a child. You need to let me make my own decisions."_

Arthur tried to stifle tears. He couldn't understand what went wrong. He'd raised Alfred so well, with the perfect outlook on life. And yet ever since he was young, all the man wanted to do was rebel. And Arthur had enough.  
"Jones. It's either Russia or the rest of the world."

Alfred's heart sank.  
_So Arthur is making me choose._


	11. Chapter 11

Alfred was stuck for words as he stared, glassy eyed at Arthur and Ivan. The Brit stood, quivering in fury, one thick eyebrow twitching. His sharp breaths were uneven with anger as he slowly repeated his words. "_It's us or Russia."  
_Alfred turned to Arthur, wondering what had ever gone wrong for the two to be in such a position. His gaze averted to Ivan, who was still curled on the floor, his ivory hair skating across tear filled eyes. Slowly the Russian stood to his feet, dusting himself off. He spoke in a very quiet voice, his words bordering inaudibility. "You should choose Arthur." He whispered.

_So he doesn't want me._

The Brit scowled. "Stop playing with his head, tosser."  
Alfred paused for a moment.

_Should I choose Ivan? I'd be sacrificing everybody for the sake of him. Nobody would support me in my decision._

Without saying a word, Alfred stood to his feet and simply walked out of the door, not bothering to look back. Through dismal villages and watery sunshine he trailed, not sure of his direction. It was as though he was in a trance, no memories or thoughts flowing through his head; simply bitter anguish. It was a wonder that he found his way home – by then time had reached into the early hours of the next day, and the star scattered skies made no effort to pave a safe way back, but he found it anyway.

*.*.*.*.*

"What do you mean_, in love with Russia_?" spoke Francis, his blue eyes widening in disbelief.  
"I mean simply that. Alfred is in love with Ivan." Replied the Brit smoothly.  
Murmurs erupted from the mouths of each and every other person – bar Alfred and Ivan, who were not there. Each country was just as worried as the next.

"I've known for a while," he continued. "But I believe that it is getting dangerous. As you all know, Ivan had captured Alfred for a full month, carrying out various degrees of abuse upon him – beatings, poisoning, verbal assault, and the likes. But the two have been seeing each other since -displaying more than mere _attraction _to another. And Alfred seems determined to make it something more than that. Do you know what that means?"

"That America will become one with Russia." Spoke Ludwig gravely. "I understand your worry, Arthur. We cannot be having that. Could you imagine the damage that collaboration between the two would cause? They are two of the strongest forces on Earth already. _Nein_, this cannot happen."  
"But what can we do?" Francis complained as he worriedly ran his fingers through his hair.  
"We'll think of something." Spoke Arthur. "In fact, I was thinking…"

*.*.*.*

Natalya burst from the Conference Room as soon as the meeting was finished, her lips tight and her skirts flowing as she advanced down the corridors. She had one thought on her mind, and one only. That was to warn her beloved brother of what was going to happen if he continued to pursue Alfred.

It didn't take her long until she was banging upon Russia's door.  
"Ivan…_Ivan!" _she called.  
The white haired man warily allowed her in. "N-Natalya." He mumbled. "Something important?"  
The woman nodded quickly, her blonde hair spilling over her chest. "Da, you can say that. You're in danger."  
Ivan chuckled, folding his arms across his chest. "And what makes you think that? I'm Russia!" he spoke brightly – though inside he had an idea of what this was about, and truth be told he was terrified.

"It's about Alfred. If you continue with him…they'll cut you off from the rest of the world. No trade. No deals. No support from anybody."  
"What? Nyet, they can't do that, surely…"  
"They say it's for safety reasons, due to the power that you and America have. War prevention, da? Almost like economic sanctions, and you remember those. They caused nothing but problems for the world. We can't have that again, which means…."

Ivan let out a shuddering sigh as he looked away. "This means that Alfred and I cannot be together."  
Natalya nodded. "I'm so sorry brother." She whispered. "You know that I love you, which is why I came to tell you. I'm not forcing any decision on you… but it's for the best if you heed my warning. If you stop now, t-they'll accept you again. I mean-"  
"Go, Natalya." Spoke Ivan coldly. His eyes did not move from the door as he extended a gloved finger and pointed towards the exit. "I need to be alone."

"Yes brother."


	12. Chapter 12

Alfred was in a depression that not even old school video games and McDonalds could pull him out of. Sinking further into the covers he tossed his controller aside and rubbed his temples, blue eyes shut tight and refusing to look at his dishevelled surroundings. Ever since the World Meeting he'd not bothered once to clean his room, resulting in the entirety of it becoming a crumpled mess of red, white and blue.

There was a knock on the door.

Alfred felt his heart leap as he jumped from the covers and stumbled down the stairs, his feet barely able to keep up with the pace he intended because his heart was set on opening the door and perhaps seeing Ivan.  
No such luck, of course. He was instead graced with Francis' presence. One which hardly radiated danger and malice, but was unsettling nonetheless.

"Amerique…" he sheepishly began. It was clear that Arthur had sent him for some reason or another, for France never visited him usually._  
_Alfred knew this immediately. "What do you want?" he mumbled, his voice gruff.  
The Frenchman paused. What _did _he want? He was never the person to shun love, to force feelings either for or against others. It was merely his background, his culture. Francis lived and breathed love; such emotions were the backbone of his country, a phenomenon which he openly embraced in terms of social interaction, music and food. It pained him to come between that, or even deliver news against it.

He thought about Ivan. The Russian was somewhat enigmatic in a sense; he was quiet, collected and polite. Everything about him seemed friendly, and yet the world knew otherwise. At least, they thought they did. Perhaps Alfred had done the unspeakable. Maybe for some wonderful, twisted reason the American had managed to cause a stir in Ivan's otherwise unstable heart.

"Hello? Hey, France if you're just gonna stand there I'm going to close the door and go back to bed okay?" spoke Alfred with a roll of his eyes. Francis snapped out of his daydream and looked up at him, scratching his stubble nervously.  
_Arthur was going to hate him for this.  
_ "Go after Ivan." He mumbled.  
"What? Listen Francis, Arthur is pressuring me enough. Let me make my decision. But he really has stooped too low, sending you here to mess with my head..."  
"Non. I came here by myself because I feel that you should do what you feel is right. I think Ivan needs you."

*.*.*.*.*

Ivan reluctantly dragged his lips from another empty bottle, smashing it to the floor with a snarl. He'd thrown it far too hard and the result lay in the shattered, painful splinters of glass that rolled across the wooden boards. This was the most alone Ivan had ever been. Even during his childhood, where Ivan was isolated, pulled away and was sure that he would die; he was not this lonely. Even during the war, where his trust had been bitterly violated by Germany and he was thrown into such an unnecessary fatal situation, Ivan was not this alone.

But he was now. And he knew that if Alfred had the slightest bit of maturity, one _single sensible bone in his body, _he'd stay away from Russia as much as it pained him. Ivan just hoped that love would overcome the odds.  
Because how would he know anyway, if he had never truly experienced it for himself?

*.*.*.*.*

"You did _what?" _hissed Arthur, his green eyes boiling with rage.  
"I told him to pursue Ivan. The heart wants what it wants." Spoke Francis calmly.  
"You imbecile! You're landing the world in danger! Alfred doesn't know what he's getting into. He thinks that Ivan is docile, _innocent…"  
"-_And maybe he is. Times 'ave changed, L'Angleterre. We aren't little boys playing with swords anymore."

Arthur flinched at the words. "We need another plan now…" he spoke, motioning towards the group. It was much smaller now; Arthur's most trusted allies – France, China, Japan and Germany. He _thought _that they were all trustworthy, but it appeared that Francis would have to gain that respect back.

Ludwig raised a hand. "I have an idea, Arthur." He spoke in his calm and highly authoritative voice. This was of course, in the best interests of the world.  
"We turn them against eachother. The further they are apart, the less their chances of becoming one are."  
The Englishman nodded, and slowly the others joined in. "You're right. But how could we go about doing such a thing?"

"I have just the idea…" piped up Yao.


	13. Chapter 13

Time had passed. Hours had melted into days, days into weeks. Ivan allowed them to pass by without a word of complaint, his posterior mimicking that of the time itself. Silent, sombre. His eyes would often flicker over to the window if he grew too bored; but the snow was no friend. It merely fell to the floor and melted away with time, no matter how beautiful it initially was when it was fresh and spiralling, gathering in soft peaks on each scrap of land.  
Ivan was all alone again in his vast manor.

The burning fireplace gave him no warmth; the candle glow gave him no light. Nobody visited.  
A knock on the door broke Ivan from his wary incubus. He made his way down the dim corridors, swinging his door wide open, the snow positively radiating and flooding his hallway.  
"Yao." He murmured, his eyes wide. Never had he expected to see him here.  
Yao nodded, bowing slightly. He raised his head, a strand of his silky brown hair falling past his face. He tucked it back, clearing his throat. " , I have something I'd like to offer you."  
Ivan gestured for Yao to enter, still taken aback. "Da." He spoke softly.

Yao stepped into the guest room and pulled back a chair, seating himself. It was so familiar; just like the rest of the building. This was far from the first time that the Chinese man had visited here. In fact, he was one to know Ivan better than anybody else.  
Yao wasted no time in pleasantries. "Alfred isn't coming back." He spoke, the lie flowing from his lips effortlessly. But his brown eyes were respectful and trustworthy, and Yao could practically _feel _Ivan's despair. The Russian was silent, searching for his own words desperately. "Do you have any proof?" he spoke.

"Shi. Alfred was very vocal about his decision. He knows how dangerous you are and requested solace in the hands of the others." Yao paused, shuddering at the thought of speaking his next words. He leant over the table slightly, his gaze unwavering. He was dressed to the nines, something which he would only do on special occasion. Red and gold lining on his clothing, and his hair had been washed and smoothed until it mirrored that of his robe's silk. "We all know how dangerous you are. _Some of us can overlook that more than others."_  
Ivan gulped. He was highly uncomfortable. He didn't want Wang Yao here, criticising him and pointing out his flaws. They had spent enough time together for Yao to know plenty of those.  
"I was wondering if you'd like to join with me, Ivan." Spoke Yao. Inside he winced at such a lie. He knew how dangerous this was.  
Ivan wasn't even listening. He wanted quiet, he wanted sunflowers. But his hearing eventually caught up with his mind and he sighed softly. "You want to become one with Russia?"  
"Shi."


	14. Chapter 14

"Alfred, sit down please." Spoke Francis. His pale blonde hair appeared completely lifeless today and his eyes were dull with worry. It was clear that if the Frenchman had slept at all that night, it must not have been for long. It physically hurt him to do this to Alfred.  
_He was so innocent, so sweet. He shouldn't have to act this way. _  
The American obeyed, pulling his wooden chair up and seating himself.  
_No harm in listening to what they have to say, _he thought.

Francis grimaced. "Arthur wants to apologise for his actions."  
Alfred's eyes widened. "W-What?" he mumbled in disbelief.  
"Oui. We all want to apologise for our treatment to you and our hostility towards Russia. It is not right for us to decide who you interact with, be it politically or _romantically."  
_Arthur opened the door followed by Ludwig and Kiku. Each of them looked just as sullen and ashamed as the rest. "We're sorry, America." They repeated in unison.

Alfred blushed bright red, feeling happiness for the first time in a while. "Y-You guys!" he cried, gathering them into a tight hug. While caught in the embrace Francis glared at Arthur.  
_How cruel could they get to do this to Alfred? _Arthur caught this and rolled his eyes, pulling away.  
"We are truly sorry, Alfred. We'd like to visit Ivan and deliver our sincerest apologies, too. Would you care to join us?"

Alfred beamed brightly. "Hell yeah!" he spoke, his blue eyes gleaming with happiness.  
That made Arthur feel the slightest bit guilty. "Let's go." He spoke softly.

_He'll thank me someday, _he thought.

*.*.*.*.*

Yao tipped his head to the side, brown eyes inquisitive. "So, what do you think, aru?" he asked, his hand reaching out to squeeze Ivan's and check that the man was still even listening.  
"O-Oh…I…I don't know, Yao." Mumbled the Russian, averting his gaze. He didn't want to betray Alfred even if they weren't…anything at all.  
_But it would be so nice to be accepted, to not be alone in the big, wide world… _  
Yao smiled gently. "We have all day, Ivan." He soothed. He searched for the clock, checking the time. _They would be here in half an hour. He had to convince Russia in less than thirty minutes._

"Would you like something to eat, Yao?" spoke Ivan nervously. He was not used to guests, therefore any hospitalities or social protocol on his part were limited.  
"A cup of tea, please."  
Ivan wandered into the kitchen, his breath ragged. He didn't know what to do. With trembling hands he reached for his flask of vodka, draining it in just one gulp. He gasped for air once he'd finished and made the tea as best he could.

Yao slipped his fingers under the supple silk of his robe, producing the legal papers. He would not, of course, go through with such a thing. He had to bide his time until the others came.  
Ivan strolled back into the room, placing the tea on his table and sitting back in his chair.  
"Why now, Yao?" he spoke, his voice solemn. "Why did you come back?"  
The Chinese man shifted uncomfortably in his seat. How he wished that the man who seemed to have no feelings lived up to such a title. Alas, it couldn't be true. Yao knew that more than anybody. "I-I don't know, aru." He mumbled.  
Ivan stiffened up. It then occurred to him that this may be a heart breaking trick. He stood to his feet with a primal, hardened glare. "_How do I know that this isn't a joke?" _he growled.  
Yao felt his heart pound. "Because I'd never do that to you!" he blurted. "Would you rather join me, or be alone?"  
Ivan winced – Yao's eyes were wide and full of knowledge.  
Knowledge that could both break Ivan apart or for once, fix him.

*.*.*.*

"Almost there man!" grinned Alfred as he lay back in his chair. His eyes were closed, enjoying the peaceful, albeit French music that was playing in Francis' car and in his hand was a big bunch of sunflowers. As the car screeched to a halt his eyes swung open, the grin ever present as he stepped out of the vehicle. He was of course, the first at the door. When it didn't answer, he noticed that it had not been properly locked. His heart pumping with excitement Alfred quietly ran down the corridors. He heard Ivan's voice. _And somebody else's._

Silently he turned the handle, poking his head around the door. His jaw dropped as he saw Yao and Ivan bent over the papers.  
"_IVAN!"_ he shouted in rage, rushing towards the man. Yao stood to his feet, flying towards Alfred and clinging to him.  
"H-He's trying to make me become one with him, aru." He whimpered, trembling.  
Alfred's face twisted in disgust as he glared at the Russian. The feelings melted away.  
Ivan was _despicable.  
"_Alfred!" he yelped. "That's not what happened at all. Please, believe me. I'd never do that."  
"I don't believe you." Growled the American, shaking Yao free and squaring up to Ivan.

Arthur, Ludwig and Kiku watched carefully from the doorway, quickly joined by Yao. They watched as their plan unfolded; as Alfred pushed Ivan into the wall with a devastating hit to the face. They watched as Ivan whimpered in pain, completely at Alfred's mercy. They watched as Alfred stooped down to the Russian and whispered something in his ear that snapped Ivan's heart in two.

"_I loved you."_

_To be continued…_


	15. Chapter 15

The room fell silent. Arthur turned to his accomplices, an odd glistening in his usually sharp, green eyes. Somehow they knew that it was time to leave, that the job was done. There was an equally melancholy feeling when the realisation crept up that they had done much more damage than intended. They stepped from the vast manor, each quietly feeling as bitter as the rest, though never daring to admit such a thing.  
Alfred did not follow. In fact, he was completely unaware of their presence in the first place. What mattered was Ivan, the trembling, childlike monster. He towered over him, the hot tears that rolled from his own cheeks spilling onto Ivan's neck below. He quivered, shutting his eyes and turning away from Alfred. He was terrified.

Hesitantly, Alfred joined him on the cold wooden floor. They lay in silence. It was far from any encounter they'd ever had. It was nothing like the times where Alfred was begging for his life, for anything but Ivan. Nor was it like the sweet and pungent stolen moments that they shared together. This was different to anything that the two had ever experienced.

"I loved you." Repeated Alfred bitterly. "And I still do. _I hate you with all of my heart, _but I love you more than anything in the world."

There was silence. Through the dim flickering of a persistent, burning candle the two could vaguely make out each other's tear filled eyes. They clung to the sight of one another. The moment was twisted; riddled with imperfections, but it was theirs. Ivan edged closer to Alfred, unaffected by the wound on his head that spilled blood onto the floor and smeared across the wall he'd sunk against, and Alfred leaned into him. They didn't speak that night, merely slipping into the darkness and staying there once the candle had burnt into nothingness and the flame had hissed away.  
_  
_Alfred woke in panic at the sight of the early morning Russian sunlight; but he soon remembered that this was no longer the past. He was no longer a slave to the man he loved. The American rolled onto his side. Ivan was still sleeping; his pale, tear stained face perfectly calm. Alfred smiled slightly at such a sight. He always wondered what about Ivan made him appear so disarming; and he concluded that it was his angelic face. That and his pure heart. Oh how he wished that there weren't other factors; strength, personality, _capability. _

He shuddered, edging closer to Ivan and froze. There was a strong metallic smell reeking from the Russian. Alfred recoiled in disgust before pulling on Ivan's shoulder's to inspect the smell. He gasped once he saw the smeared walls where blood had been oozing for a long time from the wound on his head. The wound that _Alfred _had inflicted.  
And Ivan wasn't awake.

Authors Note:  
_I really want to thank everybody who has either favourited, followed or reviewed my story so far. It means so much to me! I apologise that my writing isn't perfect, I may often make mistakes or allow the story to take a turn that is too cliché, or dramatic and such. But I'm so grateful that you enjoy it nonetheless. It means more than you think, considering the fact that I want to be a writer. I can only promise that my writing will improve over time, no doubt with the added support of everybody who has shown it. 3 _


	16. Chapter 16

"Ivan?" murmured Alfred softly, a creeping discomfort spreading across his chest. Feeling his knees grow weak when the Russian didn't respond, Alfred staggered to his feet. He almost fell face first onto the cold, wooden floorboards in his haste to find water. He returned from the kitchen and rushed towards Ivan, peeling his poor bloodied head from the wall and washing the wound with his bare fingers, sobbing quietly to himself as he did so.  
Still, Ivan did not make a sound.  
Alfred's breathing became scarce; he wrapped his arms around Ivan and pressed his face desperately against his.  
"I'm so sorry…" he whispered, burying himself closer.

Ivan stretched his arms, smiling. "It's okay, I forgive you." he mumbled sleepily as he nuzzled himself against Alfred.  
The American's face fell. "Ivan? I thought I was…I thought you were…_hurt…"  
_ "Nyet! It'd take more than a hit to hurt Russia; you should know that by now." Grinned Ivan.  
The American rolled his eyes. "You're absolutely insane." He hissed before standing to his feet.  
"Hey, where are you going?"  
"To the toilet. I've been lying there next to you all night and I swear I've done my back in. Don't think I'm not still pissed off with you, Ivan."  
Alfred glared at the Russian one last time before strolling from the room, shutting the door behind him as he did so. Once alone he let out a heavy sigh of relief. _Ivan was okay._

He found his way to the bathroom soon enough; a cold and familiar memory creeping into his head as he did so.  
But when he glanced in the mirror there were no cuts on his face. No bloodied crimson wounds on his ashen skin. His wrists were free, not bound with burning rope or steel. Alfred was no longer the dying sunflower which Ivan had captured.

_After all, you can only preserve a flower for so long before it withers._

Alfred felt tears roll down his cheeks as he gazed in the familiar mirror, his reflection much healthier than before. But that didn't mean that it didn't _sting_ to think of the mess he'd once been. A strong, proud nation living in fear of a looming shadow.

_It doesn't matter how you treat something as precious as a flower; you may keep it in the finest vase of woven Venetian glass, you may give it the freshest water. Eventually it will wither away to something less beautiful, less cherished then it had initially been._

_But now is not my time. And Ivan is no longer my cage._

Alfred pulled away, rinsing his tired face with cold water and shutting the door behind him. He yelped loudly as he bumped into someone, snapping himself from his thoughts. He stood silently as he stared into Ivan's eyes, the bewitching violet holding his interest for long enough to remain still as the Russian stooped down, pressing his lips to Alfred's.

Alfred gasped softly before returning the kiss, pulling the man closer with a gentle tug of his blood-stained white hair. "Don't hurt me again." He pleaded.  
"Is that a threat?" murmured Ivan fondly.  
"Yes."

*.*.*.*.*

"_Still no reply from Alfred." _Groaned Arthur, his head in his hands. "I'm beginning to think he's still in Ivan's…"  
Ludwig snorted. "Arthur, he would not be so insane. He knows what this snake is like now, ja?"  
Arthur sighed into his quaint cup of tea, setting it onto his table. "Yes, I suppose. I only wish we'd have done something like this sooner, really."

From the back of the room Kiku piped up. His face was solemn, almost pitiful. "Perhaps we should have allowed Alfred to have made his own choice."  
He was met with glares and incredulous looks from the other nations.  
_After their hard work, Kiku was saying this?  
"_Alfred has feelings too." He continued, standing to his feet. "Feelings which we should respect. _Especially you, _Arthur_. _I was almost under the impression that perhaps you were jealous."

Arthur's eyes widened. "Of course not! Kiku, what's came over you? Bloody hell!"  
Silence.  
"I agree with Japan." Murmured Yao, his cheeks darkening in embarrassment. Thinking back to the previous day he couldn't help but feel a little…used by Arthur in his plan.  
"Ja, me too." Agreed Ludwig with a nod. "Although one must be cautious about danger to the nations, we really did have no evidence to rely on."  
Francis tipped his head to the side, a sombre look in his blue eyes. "You already knew how I felt about this, Arthur…" he sighed.

The Brit didn't speak. He merely crouched over his table, eyes shut tight. He didn't want to agree with the others. He wanted to be _right. _He knew Alfred better than the world.


	17. Chapter 17

"Out of the way!" complained Arthur as he rubbed his temples and shouted obscenities to drivers, and sometimes even the pedestrians if he felt that they were getting in the way. He had a searing headache and bleary eyes – the brightness and business of New York City was far too much for 8 o'clock in the morning. Francis snorted, reluctantly giving the road-rage Brit suitable directions and whistling at attractive passers-by. When they eventually turned up at the tall, box-like building for the meeting, Arthur and Francis were all too happy to escape from each other's company for a short while and get some fresh air.

The Englishman yawned against the large stone steps, staring up at a clear blue sky with eyes that weren't quite accustomed to the light yet. He clenched them shut as he tried his best to drown out the loudness of such a large city. If there was one thing he wasn't used to, it was New York. And if it was the manifestation of anything, it was most definitely Alfred; bright, loud and sometimes dangerous - and most of all, nothing like England. Except Arthur didn't like New York. He couldn't _speak _to the city, and he held no sentimental value to it. Sighing, Arthur broke himself from the thought induced stupor he didn't even mean to start in the first place, trailed up the great stone steps and entered the building.

"…So in conclusion, I'm sure everybody would like to thank Alfred for being so kind as to hold this meeting here today due to such inconvenience and short notice." Spoke Ludwig, gaining attention of the nations that were there before they began to pay their thanks to Alfred. Arthur slipped in unnoticed and seated himself down at the back of the room without quite paying attention to whose seat he found himself in.  
_Good job not everybody is here yet, that means that I can sleep…  
_Arthur closed his green eyes and sank into the desk, a small smile on his face as he did so. Yes, rest was nice.

"You're in my seat, Arthur." Spoke a voice. It was bright with a cold undertone – enough to prickle the hairs on the back of anybody's neck, and Arthur knew it well. Ivan's.  
The Brit merely opened one eye and tipped his head to the side. "I don't care." He mumbled, but the Russian persisted.  
"How rude of you, Arthur. Aren't the English well known for their manners?"  
Arthur dared growl, standing to his feet. His green eyes flickered with anger as he squared up to the Russian, not caring that he was half his size. "We need to talk." He hissed, before yanking Ivan's soft scarf and pulling him from the room, going completely unnoticed by the other countries.

Ivan rolled his violet eyes before they narrowed. "You seem to have lost your manners." He murmured. This triggered a laugh from Arthur, as much as it only fuelled his anger towards Russia.  
"I'm not going to beat around the bush, Ivan. I'm going to tell you straight. I don't want you near America. If you do…I'll crush you. Because you're _not getting the message."_  
Ivan sneered, drawing himself closer with a dark aura that beckoned Arthur to continue. "I don't care what you do to me, because I love him."

Arthur fell silent. The words felt like a blow to the stomach, knocking him from the lies he'd cocooned himself in in order for him to stay in denial. He'd feared for something like this, but he never expected it to happen.  
"You don't love him, Ivan. You don't love anybody." He spoke simply, though the words just didn't sound right once they'd left his throat.  
Ivan shrugged lightly as he tilted his head to the side. He looked almost pitiful as he gazed down at Arthur. "Believe me or not. I love him." He spoke before barging past the Englishman and sitting back in his seat.

*.*.*.*.*

Alfred grinned as he surveyed the faces of the other countries. He simply loved having the World Meetings held in America; it was like hosting it in his own home. He sifted through the register, calling out names and grinning at each nation who answered. He felt wonderful today.  
Once the list met Ivan Braginsky he grinned at the man, his eyes twinkling. Even if it caused the others to shuffle uncomfortably in their chairs, Alfred decided that it was more than worth it. Once he reached Arthur Kirkland however, he felt his mood dampen a little. He hadn't spoken to England since that day. He paused, chewing his lip once he realised that Arthur wasn't there.

"Anybody seen England?" he asked. This was met with a sea of shaking heads and indifferent, blank expressions until Ivan piped up, his hand waving cheerfully in the air. "Da, I saw him!" he spoke brightly. Everybody turned to him in shock, fearing what had happened. The Russian merely grinned, shrugging such a thing off.  
"He's safe, don't worry. He's just crying in the toilets!" he spoke, an innocent smile on his face.

There was a long, awkward silence until Alfred finally let out a sharp sigh, running his fingers through his hair.  
"I'll go and get him." He mumbled, reluctantly pulling himself from the room. He wondered what Arthur was up to now.  
He found his way to the toilets, barging the door open. Sure enough, there was a slight whimpering sound coming from one of the cubicles. Alfred rolled his eyes as he pressed his ear to the door.  
"Arthur, it's me." He spoke softly.  
"Go away. I don't want to speak to you. Go back to your fucking Communist. I tried with you, but you wouldn't listen. You _never listen."_ Cried Arthur bitterly, kicking at his end of the door.  
Alfred sighed. "How did I guess that this was about Ivan? But there's something else, isn't there?"

Arthur clenched his eyes shut tightly. If he concentrated enough, he could still feel the pounding raindrops upon his head, and the bayonet he clutched in his trembling hands. If he concentrated, he could smell the blood that trickled from his face, taste the tears that resided in the corners of his mouth. And it didn't take much thought at all to see Alfred standing above him, declaring his independence.  
"You never take my advice, Alfred. It never gets you anywhere." Spoke Arthur, his voice faltering as it cracked. "I want to protect you."  
Alfred shook his head, sinking to the floor with his ears still cupped against the door. "I can fend for myself, Arthur. You've seen me do so. You know that I'm not a child any more. So why do you insist on holding me back, making my decisions for me?"

"Because I love you."


	18. Chapter 18

Arthur could feel his heart beating like a drum in his chest.  
"Alfred?" he spoke quietly, but there was no answer. Arthur waited patiently, his eyes shut tight and his body trembling as he silently begged for a response. But none came. Dipping his head under the cubicle, he saw that Alfred was gone. _He'd left him_. There was nothing left to do but stay there.

*.*.*.*.*

"Well that was…unusual." Mused Alfred as he strolled back into the meeting room. He was greeted to a sea of expectant faces; Arthur's close accomplices especially.  
"Well?" spoke Francis who was perched on the edge of his seat, one leg crossed over the other. To say that he was curious was an understatement; Arthur rarely showed any sort of emotion these years - and with his recent behaviour regarding Ivan and Alfred, things seemed a little…_off. _  
The American merely shrugged. "I checked everywhere. He wasn't there." He lied.

Francis raised one eyebrow. "Oh." He spoke, not bothering to hide the disappointment in his voice. "He'll probably be in the hotel then."  
This was met with nods of agreement from the others and they continued as normal with just as much enthusiasm, except Ivan, who narrowed his violet eyes ever so slightly.

Once the meeting had finished, Alfred began to pack his bags. Straightening his tie he folded away all of the documents and pressed them into the briefcase he'd been holding. Ivan appeared from behind, stroking his hair in a sweet but unsettling manner, causing Alfred to smile softly.  
The only thing keeping him from falling apart was his semi-romance with the Russian.

"Hello, Venya." He spoke as he stood to his feet.  
Ivan merely grinned back at his nickname, pulling Alfred into a tight hug. He'd guessed that the American had lied, and probably felt guilty – but of course, he wasn't going to let on such a thing. He didn't want to cause problems.  
_Alfred was his, whether he knew it or not._

"Hello Fredka. Are you going back home so soon?"  
Alfred shrugged as he popped his glasses back on and began to walk alongside the Russian, out of the empty building and into the warmth of the city.  
"I suppose… There's nothing interesting for me in this part of the city."  
Ivan let his grin morph into a smirk as he edged a little closer. "Not even me?" he spoke softly.  
The American shrugged, tipping his head back to allow more sun to his face. "Not even you." He chuckled.

*.*.*.*.*

Time had passed. It was dawn. Night skies were fading into pink; the moon was melting into the wide stretched clouds that sheathed a morning sun, sending a dull glow that brightened the grass below. The peaceful air was broken by shouting; the sound of orders. _Send the troops to Russia._

*.*.*.*.*

Ivan was broken from his slumber to the sound of knocking; fists pounding on his wooden door. He shot from the mattress in seconds, breath ragged from the shock of urgency. He didn't have time to think before his feet carried him down the many flights of stairs and sent him to the door, where he swung it wide open and was greeted to a face that was a little more than smug.

"Arthur." He murmured immediately.

The Brit merely nodded, tipping his head forward slowly. His green eyes narrowed, the gaze never wavering from Ivan's. "I'm giving you one last chance. You will not become one with America. It is not safe for the rest of us. We will not allow it to happen."

In any other case, Ivan would have felt more than frightened whether he hid it or not. But today he didn't – he was sick of being held back. He took a stride forward and plucked at the material of Arthur's uniform. The Englishman's cheeks flared red in anger. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing? _Let go of me, now_."

Ivan smirked, dropping his grip on the fabric and folding his arms. "Your uniform has changed a lot since it happened."  
"Since what happened? Listen here, commie, you're not making any sense-"  
"Since Alfred left." Spoke the Russian smoothly. He had the upper hand now, and he knew it. As soon as his gaze settled on a quickly paling face, he knew that he'd found Arthur's weakness.

"Red white and blue, wasn't it? Of course, there was some gold there too. And a nice, fancy hat…who were you dressing to impress, Arthur?"  
The Englishman growled. "You fucking shut up right now…or I'll…I'll declare-"  
Ivan rolled his eyes, a smirk on his lips. "You can't do a thing to me, Arthur. I suggest if you truly love him, leave him to make his own decisions."  
Arthur didn't want to back down. He didn't want Alfred to fall into the hands of somebody else, _somebody who'd hurt him in the past…_

"I'm not doing this for you." Hissed Arthur. "I'm doing this because that stubborn bastard can't operate without you. Don't you _dare _think that things are okay."  
Ivan sighed, reaching out to touch Arthur's face, - just as he'd suspected, the skin was quivering and heated with embarrassment. If he squinted, he could almost make out the tears forming in green eyes. "I'll spare you the shame, Arthur. Just leave now, and leave me be."

Arthur paused, completely frozen. He wondered what had happened to him to be in such a position; Ivan's doorstep in the unsure morning warmth with tears in his eyes and a heart that was fit to shatter. And when he looked into Ivan's eyes he almost saw a flicker of pity. That sent a stab to his pride.  
"Don't hurt him." He growled – but the tone cracked the he was soon whimpering. _"Don't hurt him again."_

Ivan nodded before turning to his door as he chewed his lip. "Do you want to…stay for a bit?" he asked hesitantly. Arthur simply nodded, trailing behind the Russian and into the house.


	19. Chapter 19

Hello! I am continuing with Sunflower Syndrome in my new fic, Sunflower Syndrome reworked. I am rewriting the story because I feel that I wasn't taking it in the right direction and that it can be improved. I'd love it very much if you checked it out!

Thankyou!


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